


The Sleeping Hero

by Imrryr



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: Community: fangrai-forever, F/F, Femslash, Vaguely Mythology Based AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1481716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imrryr/pseuds/Imrryr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where the Sanctum still rules, a prisoner discovers a sleeping hero from ages past.  AU. </p>
<p>Written for Nessie for the Fangrai Fic Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sleeping Hero

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, the events of Final Fantasy XIII took place hundreds of years ago with a completely different cast of characters. In the present day, the survivors of Cocoon’s fall live on the surface world of Gran Pulse, and though Cocoon’s fal’Cie now lie dormant inside their world’s depopulated shell, the Sanctum rules the lower world in much the same manner it had ruled Cocoon before.
> 
> Written for Nessie as part of the Fangrai Forever Gift Exchange.
> 
> Extra special thanks goes to fmo and the rest of the chat for all their encouragement ^^

“Keep going,” the guardsman ordered, prodding her forward with the muzzle of his gun.  With her hands shackled behind her back, it was a constant struggle to keep from falling on her face as she stumbled over the rough trail.

Her feet ached, her wrists burned, and her loose, dirty hair fell over her eyes, but Lightning Farron kept repeating a single phrase in her mind as the Sanctum’s men pushed her on.  _‘This could be Serah in my place_.’  It was the only thing that kept her going.

Lightning’s life was forfeit, but Serah and the resistance back home might at least have a chance.

Even so, her courage almost failed her when her PSICOM captors turned off the high road to Yusnaan and entered the forest three days ago.  No one ever ventured there, not even to hunt, and she knew instinctively where they must be headed.

Oerba, the city of the dead.

Every child in New Bodhum had grown up hearing the fantastic stories told about that place: it was haunted by one of Cocoon’s armies, lost a thousand years ago in the War of Transgression; the last native kingdom of Pulse lay there, sacrificing hapless travelers to their twisted fal’Cie gods; Ragnarok slept within its ruined walls, waiting for the day when the beast would finish what it had started.

It didn’t matter that Ragnarok had actually _saved_ Cocoon’s people five-hundred years ago, forming the crystal pillar that kept the world from falling and giving millions the time needed to escape to the lower world.  Logic never really figured into those sorts of stories.

Harder to ignore where the reports sent back from her own scouting parties.  The last scout to return to Lightning’s camp had been visibly shaken by her experience in the forest, muttering about strange noises, armies of Cie’th, and monsters that had surely been hunted to extinction centuries ago.

Lightning hadn’t known what to make of it then, but the memory of the fear etched into that woman’s face returned now with a startling clarity.    It only worsened the unsettled feeling in her gut.

When they camped amongst the ancient trees the previous night, Lightning swore she could hear the sound of weapons rattling against each other, the pounding of drums, and the thunder of charging soldiers.  Countless times it broke her out of a fitful sleep, but whenever she looked up there was nothing to be seen.  The men guarding the camp appeared pale and nervous in the firelight, but they didn’t speak of it.  Only the restlessness of their chocobo mounts told her it wasn’t just in her head.

Considering the growing fear she felt, and all the stories she found herself half-remembering at night, reaching the city itself turned out to be a bit of an anti-climax.  By the light of noon, Lightning could make out no ghostly soldiers, no bloodstained summoning circles, and no sleeping dragons; not even a howling pack of gorgonopsids to set the mood.  No, just a wide open city gate set between steep white stone walls.

In fact, it looked much like every other Pulsian ruin Lightning had ever come across.

Records from that era were sparse, but Cocoon’s history books told of the capital of a great Pulsian nation that had never been conquered during the War of Transgression.  Every time the hosts of Cocoon threw themselves against its walls, a hero would appear at the head of an army to throw them back.

It was a sign of the greatest respect that Oerba was the only place in all of Pulse whose original name was still widely known.

Three men took the lead as they approached.  The quiet was the only indication that something was off.  The wind ceased to blow, the birds no longer sang, and it seemed that all the creatures of the forest were giving the city a wide berth.

Once through the gate, Lightning wasn’t surprised to find that everything not made of stone had long ago rusted into dust.  Only the grandest of buildings remained, though she had no idea what they might have been used for.  Columns reached high into the sky, supporting roofs that no longer existed.  Once paved streets were little more than fields of upturned stones, and sometimes the way was choked so full with trees and vines that her captors had to cut a path through with their gunblades.

Still, they pressed on, passing down once wide avenues and around toppled walls, before travelling over an ancient stone bridge to what was by far the largest structure in town.  PSICOM Commander Jihl Nabaat called it the castle, and perhaps it had been one centuries ago.  The walls were certainly high enough to make New Bodhum’s wooden palisade look like a sheep-herder’s fence in comparison.

From what she’d heard, a hundred soldiers had lost their lives clearing the whole area of Cie’th over the past month.  The only reason PSICOM would do such a thing would be to find ancient technology, preferably Pulsian constructs that could be repurposed for war.  A few such machines could turn the entire tide of battle. 

Lightning frowned.  When she was fifteen, a platoon of those constructs completely flattened the city of Maranda when its people rebelled against the Sanctum.  She’d seen the carnage first hand, only barely escaping with a handful of refugees, including her sister.  Smoke, and fire, and cries that could be heard for miles.  Those memories were far worse than any tales of haunted Pulsian cities.

Fortunately, it seemed that Oerba hadn’t turned up any technological goldmines, at least not yet.  No, that’s why Lightning was here.

Another shove had her stumbling into what must have been the main hall, an enormous space with tall columns supporting a vaulted roof.  Everywhere, crystal formations ran along the floor and up the walls, reflecting the sunlight in every color of the rainbow.  She’d never seen anything like it in her life.  It was like stepping into a temple.

The guards were not so impressed, and they ushered her on into an unassuming side chamber that turned out to be a long open-air gallery.   Broken marble statues lined the walls.   _‘Warriors,’_ Lightning thought, as they marched right, then left, then right again, before coming to an open courtyard.  At the far side was something that made her heart skip a beat.

Out of place in these ancient ruins was a piece of the modern era: an opaque forcefield of blue light that blocked access to what otherwise would’ve been yet another unremarkable doorway.  That was shocking enough, but what horrified Lightning was the faint outline of a familiar symbol glowing in the middle of it.  It was exactly the same as the brand above her heart.  A series of overlapping black arrows.  The brand of the Pulse fal’Cie.

Without a word, one of her escorts placed his hand against the forcefield.  It crackled wherever his armored hand came into contact, but it didn’t budge.

Lightning’s voice was as rough as sandpaper from weeks of little use and just as little to drink.  “Yeah, I get it,” she croaked.

The guard lifted his hand to smack her.  She flinched, but a voice from behind stopped him.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”  It was Jihl Nabaat, PSICOM commander and the Sanctum’s second in command.  Lightning wanted nothing more than to break the woman’s neck, but even if she had not been handcuffed it would’ve been impossible.  L’Cie powers or not, she couldn’t hope to take on Jihl _and_ the dozen or more PSICOM lackeys who were all standing in a circle around her.

Every one of them had a gun, and every one had the best in PSICOM’s manadrive implants.

It was hopeless.

Then she remembered Serah and the promise she had made.

It was beyond hopeless.

Jihl entered her field of view, pressing her glasses up as she seemed to regard the mysterious doorway with an air of detached boredom.  From the outside there was no sign of what might be inside.  Pulsian script wrapped around the frame, but it was as untranslatable as ever.  The passageway appeared to lead right into the tree covered hills beyond, like an ancient tomb.  “She knows what’s expected of her.”

Long since resigned to her fate, Lightning nodded.

A guard stepped behind her and finally unbound her hands, allowing the handcuffs to fall to the stone walkway with a resounding clang.  There was no point in fighting back.  She could only rub at her sore wrists.

It was clear from her expression that Jihl expected her not to dally.   “Find us something we can use and your village goes free,” she said, smiling in a way that never ceased to turn Lightning’s stomach.  “We have a chocobo standing by.  You’ll be allowed to spend your final moments with your sister if that’s what you wish.”

She shuddered.  That hadn’t been part of the deal - not that Jihl was in any way trustworthy – but she longed to see Serah one last time.

No matter what happened, Lightning was living on borrowed time.  There was one reason why the Sanctum hadn’t killed her outright, and that reason was now branded on her chest.  They needed a l’Cie to pass through the door.  Lightning had been the head of the resistance against the Sanctum.  Jihl was simply killing two birds with one stone.

A week ago, Lightning been taken from her prison cell to Anima’s temple to be branded.  As she writhed in agony on the floor, she’d had seen cities aflame, a great dragon flying through the sky, and Cocoon’s now empty shell falling into the sea.  It was, as far as she knew, the only focus Anima ever gave.  The Pulse fal’Cie wanted nothing more than for Cocoon and all its people to be utterly destroyed.

It was a death sentence.  Kill everyone, or be turned into Cie’th.  Anima might as well have asked her to shoot down the moon with a bow and arrow.

Dozens had received the same focus in the years since the Sanctum discovered that horrible place.  Many were used in the same way Lightning was now being used.  Others were pressed into service, using their magical abilities in some nearby campaign only to eventually turn into monsters, their focus unfulfilled.  Some of those unfortunate souls managed to turn their newfound powers against their captors and flee to Lightning’s army.  Even so, none ever lived for more than two weeks.

It was appalling.  Lightning had led an army to Anima’s temple in order to stop it.  Then one of those l’Cie betrayed her and led her into a trap.  He had died for his trouble - transformed into a Cie’th when Commander Nabaat made it clear he would not go free - and soon Lightning would join him. 

She sighed and nodded one last time before stepping forward.  When her outstretched hand passed through the forcefield, she kept right on going.

‘ _Wow_.’

She found herself in a long descending hallway lined with racks filled with polished weapons, rooms on both sides with gold and silver piled to the ceilings, and others containing yet more precious stones and unnamable things.  To one side, fresh running water ran out a spigot and down a drain in the floor.  Lightning knelt to drink her fill, allowing herself a minute’s rest as she surveyed this strange place she’d found herself in.

It was otherworldly, but as to what might placate the Sanctum, Lightning wasn’t so sure.  They’d want something powerful.  Something destructive.  Jihl Nabaat was the kind of person who desired control over everything.  She’d have little use for emeralds or stacks of gold bars.

Standing once more, Lightning continued slowly down the hall.   If Jihl was expecting a vast horde of advanced Pulsian technology, she was in for a rude shock.

These vaults might’ve been filled with many beautiful things, but they were artifacts for a museum, not the battlefield.  She passed rows of swords, halberds, and spears, noting curiously that some notches were suspiciously empty.  Had others been here before her?

Lightning called out, but an echo was the only answer she received.  She felt very much alone.

Still, it didn’t seem possible.  This place had the feel that it was still being lived in.  There wasn’t a speck of dust, or a single cobweb.  Not a single crack or water stain marred the brightly painted walls. 

In all the years since Cocoon’s fal’Cie had fallen, no one had so much as glimpsed a living Pulsian.  All that remained were their machines, usually just barely functional by the time they were found.  Everything else that might’ve told them about what these people were really like, all that was lost.  Being here was like stepping back in time.

“No machines though,” Lightning said to herself.  Indeed, this place seemed to predate the machine-age entirely.  Could this castle be substantially older than they thought?

It was so much to take in.  If Serah or Hope had been here, they’d be enthralled.  Lightning, on the other hand, needed to keep moving.

After passing another two-dozen similarly appointed rooms, she came to an impossibly large rotunda under a high dome, its walls lined with maybe a hundred columns.  In between each was a life-sized marble statue resting on a pedestal.  Armored men and women with solemn expressions, each holding a weapon, some so alien that Lightning couldn’t even form a guess as to how they might be used.

Just like the castle outside, crystals grew along the walls here and up to the very apex of the dome, hanging down over everything like stalagmites in a cave.    Light poured in from overhead, bathing the whole scene in a bright blue glow.  Staring up was like looking into the heavens.

Lightning followed the left wall, glancing briefly at every statue she passed.  They all appeared to wear matching armor; breastplates over tunics, gauntlets, and spaulders, and she wondered briefly how any sculptor could chisel freely hanging fabric so well.

And were these truly warriors of Oerba?  Their expressions were so… _serene_.  A smile tugged at her lips.  She’d be proud to command an army as noble as this.

Finally, she came to the far side of the room.  There stood a large circular marble dais with more Pulsian letters carved into it.  Behind that was yet another statue… only this one was formed entirely out of crystal.

A tall, female warrior stood on the pedestal, her eyes closed.  In one of her gauntleted hands she held a sword, and in the other, an elaborately decorated shield.  Upon closer inspection, Lightning found it was much more than simple decoration.  Etched into the boss were countless unmistakable scenes of battle.  She ran a hand across the surface.  Strange.  Mixed in with the depictions of war were other scenes that seemed to speak of peace… of friendship.

“Not just a warrior then,” she said out loud, surprised by how much the revelation pleased her.

And just like her marble counterparts, this woman was suitably armored.  Her heavy breastplate, pauldrons, cuisses, and sabatons seemed to be of the very highest quality.  What little exposed flesh she had was well-defined.   This wasn’t an idealized portrait, this was someone who truly fought.  The sculptors among Lightning’s people could stand to learn from her.

Lightning swallowed, stepping back suddenly, her cheeks tinged pink.    _‘She’s absolutely beautiful.’_

Then, though she didn’t know what compelled her, she reached out touched the statue’s arm. 

The instant her finger touched it, the entire world seemed to groan.   The walls and floor shook and the crystal spires above swung back and forth before they came falling down.  Lightning covered her head and cried out, but the crystals turned to dust before they even touched the ground.

When the shaking ended, every last crystal lay like fine sand on the floor.  The hole above was now open to the elements, and a circle of yellow sunlight poured in, directly on the dais.

Lightning looked behind her, horrified.  She’d disturbed something impossibly ancient and beautiful, something truly unique in this world.  What had she done?  She didn’t _belong_ here.

“Is it time?”

Lightning spun on her heels, gasping in amazement at a statue turned to flesh.  The tall warrior stood before her, her armor shining brightly in the unfiltered light from above, her shield and sword left on the empty pedestal behind her.   “I –.”  Try as she might, words simply wouldn’t come.

The warrior regarded her curiously.  She had an accent unlike anything the well-travelled soldier had ever heard before.  “What is your name?”

“L – Lightning.”

The woman’s green eyes narrowed, and her tone was accusatory, “You are _not_ from Gran Pulse.” 

“No,” Lightning replied, swallowing nervously as she struggled to regain her composure.  “I am not.”  Even had this woman not been so well armored, magic seemed to flow from her.  Lightning wouldn’t have had a hope of defending herself.

“Strange to destroy my people and then come to seek my aid.”

The accusation offended her.  “You’re the first Pulsian I’ve ever met.”

The warrior seemed surprised by this.  Her brow furrowed.  “You’re not lying,” she said after a tense moment.

Lightning allowed herself to relax just a little.  If only it could always be this easy to convince people she was telling the truth.

“I am sworn to protect Oerba.  Why have you come here?”

Lightning couldn’t disguise the desperation in her voice.  A hundred new possibilities were racing through her mind.  “I _need_ your help.”  Then the absurdity of the situation struck her.  Never in her wildest dreams had she expected help to come from a Pulsian statue turned to life.

The warrior hummed in thought before walking straight past her and over to the dais.  When she pressed her hand to its flat surface, the Pulsian script running along its outer edge began to glow with a familiar blue light.  Lightning nearly fainted with the imagery that shot suddenly through her mind.

Two-thousand years of history passed before her eyes and Lightning watched it all with increasing fascination.  She saw the warrior as a child, being taken out into the forest to hunt for the very first time.  She saw her in her late teens, fighting countless enemy tribes, gathering up an army as she went along, earning fame throughout the land.   Then something terrible happened; a friend of hers died in an enemy attack while she was out on campaign.  The warrior grieved endlessly.   Then she and a hundred of her most trusted companions swore an oath and voluntarily sealed themselves up in this place.  They vowed to forever guarantee the safety of Oerba from all who would threaten it, to give peace to a land that had only known constant war for so long.  Over a thousand years, when their aid was sought, the warriors emerged one by one and fought for the people.

Oerba grew and contracted then grew again with the passing of time, but one day there came an invasion unlike anything Pulse had ever endured.  Armies from above defiled the land, and within a few years, only two warriors remained here.  Finally, at the request of a village woman, the only other remaining warrior left with her and joined the counterstrike.  From the top of the castle’s keep she transformed into a beast, tore across the sky, and smashed a hole in Cocoon’s shell that was still visible to this day.

Then, just as quickly as it began, the War of Transgression was finally over, but sadly Oerba’s fate was not to be a happy one.  The warrior’s expression turned horrified.  Pulse’s people were under siege from an enemy that no army of warriors could save them from.  Pulse fal’Cie churned out l’Cie in appalling numbers, giving them foci that were impossible to fulfill.  Soon, farms and pastures gave way to forests, and the streets of Oerba deserted by all but Cie’th.   The city of warriors died a lonely death.  It dwindled away with every other city and town in the lower world until there were no more living souls at all.

Five-hundred years later and Cocoon fell from the sky, only to be somehow saved by a pillar of crystal.  Refugees poured out of that world.  Their clothes, their speech, their very habits were different, but they bickered amongst themselves just as the Pulsians had, and before long, they were fighting over a world they’d previously shunned.  The warrior turned away before the story was over, looking shaken, her breathing heavy.  “I should’ve been woken sooner.  I should’ve stopped this.”

Lightning was breathing hard too, trying to make sense of all she’d seen.  Her companion was over _two-thousand_ years old.  “You can’t stop every bad thing from happening.”  Not even a sleeping warrior straight out of a fairy-tale could do that.

The woman stared back at her and Lightning regretted saying anything at all.  How could she possibly console someone who had seen so much?

“My name is Fang,” the warrior said finally, her expression softening a bit.  “Oerba Yun Fang.”

Lightning swallowed and nodded.  “Lightning Farron.”

“You come from Cocoon, yet you have Anima’s brand.”

Lightning did her best to explain.  She told of Commander Nabaat, about the Sanctum, and even about the history of the Cocoon as far as she knew it.  Fang listened with interest, but no sign of surprise.  Perhaps it was to be expected.  Would anything mankind did surprise someone who had lived as long as she had?

As Lightning finished, Fang began pacing the center of the hall.  “For two-thousand years we protected Oerba, now I’m the only one left and there is no kingdom left to defend.”

“ _Please_ ,” Lightning begged.  “The Sanctum is no better than the fal’Cie who ordered my people to attack yours all those years ago.”

She spoke to the floor, as if thinking out loud.  “And why should I help the descendants of those who attacked my people?”

“Everyone comes from Gran Pulse originally.  Would you condemn millions to a life of slavery out of spite for something their ancestors did?”

Fang stopped pacing and after a moment she nodded, seeming to understand the truth of that.  “I am bound to this land.  This forest is the whole of my kingdom and I cannot pass beyond the boundary stones.  That was the promise we all made.  Your goals are noble, but there is little I can do for you beyond perhaps teaching you to fully harness your l’Cie powers.”

Lightning shook her head.  What good would that do?  She could never complete her focus.  Did every l’Cie who beseeched these warriors for aid suffer the same fate?  Did they leave only to die a few days later when their brand progressed all the way?  She unzipped the top of her filthy, sweat stained shirt, drawing it open to expose the top of her brand to the light.  “What’s the point when l have only have days to live?”

“You might have more time than you think,” Fang said with a smile.  “It depends on what you’re after.”

Her PSICOM captors had asked Lightning that question a hundred times as they tortured her.  “I want my people to be free to decide their own fate.”

Nodding, Fang placed a gauntleted hand over Lightning’s heart.  There was another rush of magic.  When she looked down, the brand was still there, but it was burned out; white instead of black.   She looked up questioningly.

“No one deserves to be a tool of the fal’Cie,” Fang said softly.  “Anima cannot control you now.”

Lightning flushed at the contact, but even more at the look in Fang’s eyes and the tone of her voice.  “But why make it so only l’Cie can enter this place?”

“It was a means of protection, but it was also a way to keep out those not willing to sacrifice themselves.  Ages ago, there were fal’Cie who cared about Oerba, who wanted to see it protected.  Their foci were similar to our own.  The War of Transgression changed all that.”

Fal’Cie who actually _cared_ about humans?  Despite all she had seen today, Lightning wasn’t so sure she could suspend her disbelief quite that much.

Fang took Lightning’s hand in her own, and even though she still wore those heavy gauntlets, the gesture was a remarkably tender one.  “Allow me to teach you to use these powers.”

Visions she’d received through the dais replayed in Lightning’s mind.   Fang leading an army in the days before she swore her oath, shouting out orders to a thousand assembled men and women, the wind rushing through her wild hair as she charged into the fray.   The fact that she cared so passionately for her people, for her friends, that it led her to create this place and stand watch for millennia…

Lightning pulled back, frustrated with herself.  What was she doing?  There wasn’t time.  “ _I can’t_.  They’re holding my sister.”

Fang frowned, her eyes growing hard.

“I know you can’t follow me to Bodhum, but please, help me rid the Sanctum from your lands.  Help me save my sister.”

Fang’s hands went behind her back.  “I’m the last one,” she said regretfully.  “Once I leave this place, the seal will be forever broken.”

Lightning lowered her head.  Without the seal, Fang would have no protection from the Sanctum should they return.  How could she ask that of her?  How could she ask Fang to sacrifice her safety for a descendant of Cocoon?

“I’ve been asleep too long,” Fang said as she gazed upon the marble statues.  “Everyone I have ever loved is gone, even their descendants.”

Lightning couldn’t begin to imagine what that must feel like. 

“It looks like the warrior spirit still lives on, however,” she added, smiling.

Lightning looked up.  “I’m no warrior.”  The former occupants of this temple… _they_ were warriors.  Lightning was just a former cop leading a ragtag army because no one wanted the job.

Fang picked up the shield and slipped her sword into the scabbard at her waist.  “Many have come here saying the same thing.  Let’s see about that, shall we?”

…

When they stepped through the barrier together, it collapsed unceremoniously into dust at their feet.  Fang and Lightning walked out into the sunlit courtyard to find Commander Nabaat waiting with fifteen armed PSICOM soldiers flanking her.  They raised their weapons, but a wave of Jihl’s hand had the men lowering them cautiously. 

“Interesting,” she said, crossing her arms.  “And who is this?”  As always, Jihl was the picture of calm, as if running into two-thousand year old Pulsian warriors was a daily occurrence for her.

Lightning’s companion dipped her head when she introduced herself, “Oerba Yun Fang,” she said, her tone subtly mocking.  “And you are Jihl Nabaat.  What is it you desire from me?”

Jihl tilted her head ever so slightly.   Perhaps she was caught off guard by the question, or perhaps she was feigning curiosity.  Lightning couldn’t tell.  “I want the rebellion to end.”

“She wants us to surrender, is what she means,” Lightning added, eyes narrowing.

Jihl removed her glasses and smiled as she tucked them into her coat pocket.  “That goes without saying.”

“And then we will be executed,” Lightning continued.

Jihl shrugged.  “Only those we can find no other use for.  As for the rest… well, the people must not be allowed to forget what happens to traitors.”

Fang stared deeply into Jihl’s eyes.  “You speak of the people.  What do _they_ want?”

The Commander scoffed.  “The people don’t know what they want, only that they yearn for protection from that which they fear.  Give them the freedom to decide their fate and there would be only chaos.  History has made that much blatantly obvious.”

Lightning could only clench her fists at her sides ineffectually.  “You would make servants of us all,” she said.

“That is already a fact.  We offer protection in a dangerous world and in exchange the people serve us.  That is how it has always been.  Tell me, _General_ Farron,” contempt practically dripped from her tongue, “How many more will die in this rebellion of yours?  Ten-thousand?  A million?  The people follow the Sanctum because they understand we offer the best solution.  We offer peace.  You offer chaos.”

“We won’t live as slaves!”

“Speak for yourself!” Jihl replied sharply.  Then she raised her gunblade, pointing it directly at Fang.  “Is _this_ truly all you found for me?”

The way Jihl seemed to regard Fang as subhuman made Lightning’s skin crawl, but she decided to play along while she searched for an opening.   Maybe she could set Jihl alight with a fire spell, but _the guards_ …  “No.  There were also rooms filled with gold and ancient weapons.”

“Then you have failed me and brought me back this –,“ she practically spit the word, “ _relic_ I have no use for.”

Fang raised her shield.  “You speak like a fal’Cie.”

Jihl’s smile turned into a sneer.  “Five-hundred years ago, our world fell because a few humans failed to know their place.  They bit the hand that fed them, that clothed them, that kept them safe.  The fal’Cie gave us a paradise and we squandered it.  I won’t see that happen again.”

“And what is this world you’re creating?” Fang asked, her voice like steel.  “Another prison with l’Cie slaves to do your bidding?”

“I was simply being efficient,” Jihl replied.  She no longer spared Lightning a second glance.  “This one will die one way or another.  She is guilty of inciting rebellion.  She would’ve made an excellent servant, but she _chose_ to become a slave.  If she dies perhaps it will keep others from following in her misguided footsteps.”

Fang’s eyes were like slits.  “You are truly without pity.”

“Pity and mercy cost _lives_.  Had we not been so merciful in the beginning, Cocoon would not have fallen, and millions would not now be condemned to live in this hell.”

“This is _not_ hell,” Fang growled, her muscles tensing.

“You’ve never seen the holovids of what life was like there when Cocoon was in its prime.  Compared to Cocoon, Pulse is a cesspool.”

Fang’s eyes flashed.  “ _Ingrate!_   Everything you have you owe to this land.  Cocoon was _created_ from it.”

“Our fal’Cie took only the best,” Jihl said dismissively.  “What remains is refuse.”

Lightning’s glare matched Fang’s.  “Pulse is our home now!  This world sustains us!”

“Not for much longer.  When we bring Cocoon’s dormant fal’Cie back to life, we’ll build a new home and retake our rightful place in the heavens, only this time the Sanctum will be in total control.”

Fang huffed.  “If you think you can control the fal’Cie, then you truly are a fool.”

“Empty words from the last of her kind.” 

“There are plenty more like me,” Fang replied.  For just a second, she met Lightning’s gaze.  Lightning blinked.

“Odd.  I just see you.”  With a final look of contempt, Jihl pulled the trigger.

In anticipation, Fang raised her shield.  A loud bang echoed through the courtyard, and the shot tore a two foot long gash through the metal as it passed, almost splitting it, and just barely missing its intended target. 

A long moment passed and all was eerily quiet except for Fang’s heavy breathing.  She stared in disbelief at her wrecked shield, first horrified, then with growing disgust.  Suddenly, she tossed it to the ground like a piece of scrap.  The sight of that beautifully etched shield lying broken in the dirt made Lightning sick to her stomach.

Jihl laughed.  “As I was saying.  A relic of a bygone age.”  She raised her weapon again, this time taking aim at Fang’s heart.

Lightning dove for her, and as she brought Fang to the floor, the brand on her chest seemed to catch fire.  The air rushed and howled, knocking all the guards off balance.  In her rage, she called up a thunderstorm.  In an instant, the sky grew dark as bolts shot down from the sky, striking everyone in a wide circle surrounding herself and Fang.

She thought about all the friends she’d seen die; some at the hands of Pulse’s creatures, some by the fal’Cie, but most by the Sanctum.  She screamed as the air burned.  Maranda and Yusnaan, the battles of Naucratis and Bresha.  So much destruction, so much death.  The world hadn’t changed a bit in two-thousand years.

“ _Lightning!_   Stop!”

Suddenly exhausted, she collapsed into Fang’s arms, all the magic draining from her body.

When she finally opened her eyes again, the dust had cleared, the storm clouds had abated, and all around her lay dead PSICOM soldiers.  Jihl was a few feet away, crumpled into a heap, her uniform in tatters.  She wasn’t breathing.   Lightning swallowed as she backed away.  She’d seen worse on the battlefield, but knowing she was capable of such destruction…

Fang was thankfully still very much alive, breathing heavily, and looking up at her with wide, but grateful eyes.   “I think I understand how you got your name,” she said, running a hand through her hair as she laughed.

Lightning grunted.  A coincidence, nothing more.  It was a name she’d chosen for herself when she’d first joined the resistance against the Sanctum.  “Lightning.  It flashes bright, then fades away.  It can’t protect.  It only destroys.”  The evidence was all around her.  L’Cie powers were truly horrible.

Fang’s smile was tender as she brushed herself off and stood up.  Her formerly immaculate armor was a bit scuffed.  “It’s also a sign of the approaching monsoon, a renewal that turns Gran Pulse’s deserts into lush grasslands.”

She had to look away.

A hand rested on her shoulder.  “You might be exactly what this world needs.”

“Come with me?” Lightning asked, almost whispering.  She couldn’t bring herself to even look Fang in the eye when she said the words.  “At least as far as the border.”  She wanted to add ‘ _please_.’  There was so much more she could learn from this woman… but she couldn’t stay here.  Her home needed her.  _Serah_ needed her.

Fang brushed some of the dirt off of Lightning’s shirt.  “I’d be of little use to you.  I had thought I could at least rely on my shield.”  She regarded it, still lying there like a piece of scrap.  “As you see, I cannot.”

Lightning stooped over and picked it up.  Even half-destroyed it was still surprisingly sturdy, and a number of those intricate etchings remained; prowess in battle, friendship, comradery…  She let out a breath.  Sure Lightning had friends, but leading the resistance was such a lonely fate.  Perhaps she could do more to bring her soldiers together as Fang had done.

“You would’ve been welcome amongst us.”

She looked up.

“I mean it.”

Lightning nodded even if she didn’t fully believe it.  “Lend this to me?”

Fang’s eyes darted from her to the shield and back.  “Why?  It’s worthless.”

It wasn’t worthless, it was a memory.  It was a tie to those who came before, a tie to Fang and all she represented.  “Let’s see about that, shall we?”

…

Years later…

…

Lightning smiled at the guards as she walked slowly past.  The castle was very much as she remembered it, at least in a physical sense.  Perhaps one day it could all be restored to a semblance of its former glory, but there was something evocative about its empty windows and fallen towers.  Birds chirped lively from the exposed barrel vaults, and sheep chewed on the grass that grew between the paving stones.  People in civilian clothes were milling about the ruins as well.  Oerba was turning into quite the tourist attraction these days.

She made her way into the eastern wing, the only part of the castle to be restored thus far.  Wooden roofs covered several of the rooms there, and these formed the headquarters for Oerba’s city guard, the new protectors of the land.  Lightning smiled at all of them, and every man and woman saluted as she continued on.

Two guards were waiting for her at the entrance to what people were now calling the Warrior’s Temple.  They opened the replacement iron gate and stepped aside when Lightning approached.

It was like returning home, and everything appeared much the same.  Some of the treasure had been emptied from the side rooms; the gold bars went to help finance the rebuilding of Pulse’s cities, and samples of the weapons and art went to be placed in museums.  It was a little emptier, but there was still a fortune to be found here.  Much of it would likely stay.  Perhaps she would help catalog it.

When she stepped into the rotunda, Lightning noted that cobwebs were now growing between the high columns, and she thought she spied a small crack in one of them.  After two-thousand years, this place was finally beginning to age.  The magic was gone. 

As before, a sole crystal statue stood along the far wall, illuminated by the sun overhead.  Smiling brightly, Lightning quickly stepped up to it.

Okay, perhaps not _all_ of the magic.

Still smiling, she reached out and touched the woman’s arm for a second time.

Again, the earth seemed to groan, but Lightning only had eyes for the statue, watching with fascination as it transformed from crystal back into flesh.

Fang opened her eyes and grinned when their eyes met.  She jumped easily off the pedestal and stepped forward only to stop short.  “Wow,” she breathed, eyes widening.  “Where do you get that armor?”

Lightning shrugged.  It had been so long, the armor felt like a second skin to her now.  “I had it made for me.”  She looked around at all the similarly attired statues still standing on their marble pedestals.  “I guess I was inspired.”

Fang nodded appreciatively.  “And you’ve repaired the shield.”

Lightning proudly held it out.   When Fang attempted to touch it, a forcefield crackled to life with a faint hum, encasing the surface in an impenetrable glow of white light.  Fang flinched and raised an eyebrow in question.

“A variation of AMP technology,” Lightning explained.  She flipped a hidden switch and the forcefield blinked out of existence.  Cautiously, Fang ran a hand over the repair that arced from top right to bottom left, resembling a bolt of lightning.  What Jihl’s bullet had torn apart, Lightning had repaired.  She’d specifically chosen a golden color to contrast with the original silver.  That way the repair would never be forgotten.  The gash was part of the shield’s story now.

“What do these mean?” Fang asked, pointing to the new scenes carved expertly into the mended metal.

Those were part of the story too.  Serah had etched these drawings for her over the last several years.  “The liberation of Eden,” Lightning said as she pointed out the first picture, “And before that, the battle of Namvra.  Then the day I was reunited with my sister.  And the day I met you.”

Fang smiled tenderly.

“And now,” she said, pointing to the only space that remained empty.   “The people rule in Gran Pulse.”

As Lightning placed the shield down gently on the dais, Fang looked up at the circle of blue sky overhead.  “Can’t say how long it will last.”

“Should I wait here for a thousand years and find out?”  Lightning asked jokingly.

Fang laughed.  “Someone once told me that you can’t stop every bad thing from happening.  It sounds like you’ve done enough for one lifetime.”

Lightning chuckled.  “What about you?  Haven’t you done enough?”

Fang frowned in thought.  “I don’t know.  The future is,” she paused, “ _different_ than I expected.”  Another moment of silence followed.  “What will you do now that the fighting is over?”   The question was surprisingly tentative.

Lightning lifted her chin, reaching out to run her gloved hand along Fang’s jaw.  “I’ve decided to make Oerba my home.”

The wide grin that broke out on Fang’s face lit a fire in Lightning’s belly, and before she could stop herself she was leaning up and kissing her.

For so many years she’d dreamed of this moment, but the unexpected clamor of their metal breastplates scraping against each other had her breaking away with tears of laughter in her eyes.

Fang laughed too, but was also blushing heavily.  In all the stories Lightning’s father had told her about knights and great heroes, she’d never pictured kissing one of them and leaving them breathing hard with kiss-swollen lips.

“Yeah,” Fang said, finally meeting her gaze again before wrapping her arms around Lightning’s back.  “That sounds good.”

\----------------

The End

\----------------


End file.
